Qu'ils mangent de la brioche

I've been a little out of sorts today. It was my first day back at work , after a week-long vacation, and I was totally expecting a shitload of urgent e-mails, and a stern "see me" voicemail box from the boss.

But it never happened.

So what's a desk jockey to do?



Go for a run, of course. 3.5 miles in 27:31 on a treadmill in the free company fitness center. That's not bad considering I had not run since I did a 5.2 mile loop from Lindenhurst to Babylon and back last Sunday.

Nothing like a little PT to get the blood flowing by 9AM.
I was ready to take on the world....

Still nothing....

In fact, the most exciting moment of my day was when I ran into my friends Yvonne and Al, at lunch, who had some urgent news for me. I was with them on Saturday at a party thrown by my ex-boss Frank. There was plenty of food and booze to go around. I even got Skippy to make her famous crack crumb cake, which is always a hit no matter where we she brings it.

Apparently much had happened after Skippy and I left the party. Frank tossed out Skippy's crumb cake in his zeal to clean the house.

That bastard!

Apparently, this didn't sit well with his sleepover guests who were counting on having the leftover cake the next morning with their coffee and Bloody Marys.

The story got back to Skippy, who told Rick, who had this reaction to the news....

What the f%*#&@ck!

Poor kid. His face is still frozen like that from the shock.

qu'ils mangent de la brioche

In the meantime, if any of you care to partake in this delectable dessert, here's the recipe:

Skippy's Crumb Cake

1 box Ducan Hines Yellow cake Mix
2 eggs
1 1/3 cups of water
2 tsp Vanilla Extract
3 sticks of margarine
3 cups of flour
1 cup of sugar
3 tsp cinnamon
Confectionary sugar (optional)

Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees.

Combine cake mix, eggs, water, and 1 tsp of vanilla extract together in a bowl and mix for 2 minutes at medium speed. Spread cake mix in a greased 13 x 9 cake pan.

Bake for 20 minutes.

While cake is baking, prepare crumbs in a large bowl. Put flour and sugar in the bowl and mix together with your hands. Add 3 sticks of margarine, 1 tsp vanilla extract, and 3 tsp cinnamon. Knead everything together with your hands until it is all blended. (This can get a little messy)

When the cake is done, generously spread the crumbs on top of the cake. Use all of the crumbs.

Bake an additional 17 minutes.

Let cool to room temperature before sprinkling confectionery sugar on top. Cut into squares and serve.



Because I had nothing better to do today.....

Lazy Sunday...

I got nothing. I have a few ideas in the hopper that I hope to blast out in the next day or so.

But not today.



Today, it was all about helping coach Rick's baseball team and watching the NCAA basketball. I also checked out the episodes two and three of the HBO Special "John Adams."

Lazy enough for you? Here's a little more.

An 80s music video. It's an oldie and a guilty pleasure of mine. I caught it the other day as I was flipping through the XM stations while driving around town running errands. There aren't too many Madonna songs I like, let alone stop my flipping. This is one of them....enjoy.

Spartacus Dishes

A fellow blogger and new friend, Franny, from over at FranIam has decided to interview me. By way of full disclosure, I have to say I asked for this. Really I did. I was reading the interview that Dr. Monkey von Monkerstein of Monkey Muck gave my dear Franny and felt a bit left out. So here I am, a fresh set of questions before me, just because I could not shut the fuck up......

What inspired you to begin blogging and to choose the name Spartacus?
I could lie and say that I was inspired by the disgraced Roman Legionnaire who led a slave revolt against Julius Caesar that was unsparingly crushed. After all, every one loves the underdog, right? But that would be wrong. There's no special significance to the name. I took it from the movie because it's an all-time fave of mine, Kirk Douglas is one of my favorite actors, and I needed something memorable with which to comment online.

However, here are some names that were also given brief consideration: Mick-lovin-spic; McBoriqua; Patatas-hervidos (boiled potatoes). However, none of these do well to describe what happens to a Puerto Rican who fell hook, line and sinker in love with a beautiful Irish lass back in 1988. So, I dropped the whole idea and went with Spartacus. (No...I'm Spartacus! No...I'm Spartacus!!!!!) The tattoo on my avatar is the symbol of my love for E.

Tito Puente - yes or no. In either case, explain why.
Yes and no.

Yes, because the man was, without a doubt, one of the greatest latino jazz musicians to walk this earth. The depth and the sheer size of the musical legacy he left behind makes me proud to be a fellow 'Rican. His influence can still be heard in many of today's salseros.

But no, and sadly no, because while I could hear his music blare from my bedroom window in the projects, and was very excited the day he came to my neighborhood to perform live at a block party, I was too smitten with my oldest brother's interest in sex, drugs and rock and roll. I was a front row witness when Gus first played Lou Reed, the Rolling Stones and David Bowie on my dad's combo TV-Stereo set and I simply caught that bug. By the time I got to my senior year at Aviation High School in 1981, and got past my very brief fascination with disco, I was living in Queens, and too far into The Ramones, The Police, The Sex Pistols, The Clash to have any time for my father's music. I know it's a sad comparison to make with the King of timbales, but at 17, I wasn't really thinking in terms of the cultural significance of my choice.

I regret it now and I've been getting back into it lately, ever since I got the XM satellite radio hooked up to my ride. But I've got a long way to go before I can ever consider myself an aficionado. No time better than the present.


You meet George Bush in an elevator and you have 45 seconds to say whatever you want. What happens?
First, I would push the emergency stop button on the car we are riding in and deliver the biggest ass-whooping that faux-Texan, AWOL, SOB has ever experienced. While I was going thug life on his ass, I'd ask him "Where my money, bruh? I heard you been passin' mad cheddar out in crates over in Iraq and you ain't got shit for us back home? Whas wrong witchu? Whatta about NOLA mu fukka? Whatta about them kidz in uniform with bad equipment?" Then I'd bitch slap him a bit more before pulling out the emergency stop button to let the car come to a landing. I'd then surrender myself to the waiting platoon of SS agents, who would drag me to an isolated, windowless room and beat the living shit out of me. Can you tell I've imagined this scenario? The ass-kicking trade off would be well worth it.


What is the Spartacus top 10 list of important books to read?
The problem I have with this question is that for me, it's much too broad a question. Top10 list of important books? Hmm. On what topic? Religion? History. Literature? Science? Well, I'm going to take liberties with this one because you said I should feel free to change or add a question. So here goes Spartacus's list of the top 10 list of important books I've read since 9/11, in no particular order:

Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies – Jared Diamond

Grand Illusion: The Untold Story of Rudy Giuliani and 9/11 – Wayne Barrett, Marty Collins

The Great Influenza: The Epic Story of the Deadliest Plague In History – John M. Barry

Paris 1919: Six Months That Changed the World – Margaret MacMillan

Downtown: My Manhattan – Pete Hammil

I'm a Stranger Here Myself – Bill Bryson

Truman – David McCullough

Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln – Doris Kearn Goodwin

The Journey of Man: A Genetic Odyssey – Spencer Wells

The End of Faith: Religion, Terror, and The Future of Reason – Sam Harris

Please note that this is an ever-evolving list, as I am always reading something. Ask me tomorrow and the list could change significantly.


What is the most important thing you will leave your kids, and money doesn't count. (not that I thought it would!)
Besides 23 of my best chromosomes? I think what I want to leave my kids is a sense of respect for themselves, their family, and for the world in which they live. I also want them to have a healthy sense of skepticism and to maintain their critical thinking skills. Sure, I'd like them to have fabulous careers at high-paying salaries so that they can support me and E. when we are old, decrepit septuagenarians, but I don't feel any of that is possible without showing them how to stand up and think for themselves. In the end, only they know the path to their happiness. All E. and I can give them now are the tools to get them there and a safe laboratory to help them work out their theories.

Phew! Man that was work. Great questions. Thanks for the opportunity. Peace. (Blows two-fingered kiss to the blogsphere.)

UPDATE: I changed the title of the post. I like the way this one sounds better.

One for us old guys....

He's 41 and he's now a member of the 300-win club in major league baseball. He's a dad, a husband, and a friend to everyone who knows him. He takes the ball every five days the way you and I jump on a train and in a car to go to work. I know this is really schmaltzy, but I tip my cap to Tom Glavine, pitcher for the New York Mets on this outstanding achievement.

Deep In The Heart of Texas

Kenny is an old friend of mine from my days in Richmond Hill, Queens. We played in a band together, hit on each other's girlfriends (literally), had several fallings out and reconciliations, and through it all we remained friends. Anyone whose played in a band will know how hard it is to "remain" friends with your bandmates. Yet, there we were palling around doing what we will with our 20-something lives.

But before this post begins to resemble the sequel to "Brokeback Mountain", I'll say that Kenny is one of the few friends I've had in this life whom I regard as a brother. Even though we didn't spend much time together after I got married in 1990, we still regarded each other as being close friends.

Well, a few months ago he called me to tell me several things:

• after putting 25 years in, he's retiring from the commodities trading business;
  
• he's opening a steak and pasta house;
• he's moving to Boerne, Texas.
  

What the fuck!!!

After we got off the phone that day, I Googled Boerne, Texas to get a sense of just how deep in the heart of Texas this town really was. All I knew was that it was north of San Antonio.
Here's the map:




Don't get me wrong -- I don't regard this as a sad occasion. I see it as another one of life's mile markers where you drop off a passenger whose been riding with you for days. You see, for both of us, a visit is no longer a matter of driving 75 miles for a day-long visit. I can't pack a cooler full of beer and a few steaks and take the family out on a road trip. The man who founded the "bachelor" school was now picking up roots and moving lock, stock, and barrel to some place that up until a few months ago, I had never heard of. Talk about what to say as a goodbye!

Kenny and I stayed on the phone for over an hour, during which time he gave me all the details of the place he planned to open and why he's featuring steak and pasta in his new house. Apparently, a good Italian sauce is so hard to find deep in the heart of Texas that Renee's (that's Kenny's wife) relatives begged him to add it to the menu.

One score and a few years more (1983), I was the front man in Queens (NY)-based band called Erewhon after (I think) a 19th Century novel written by Samuel Butler. My stint in the band didn't last very long. The sad fact of the matter was they needed a singer with the range of John Anderson (of Yes) and mine was somewhere between George Harrison and Glenn Tilbrook. But the keyboard player and I remained very good friends after my departure from the band; we even worked together on writing a few songs in 1984 for which I have fond memories. There were all those Saturday nights at Spirit's Pub, and the times we would cop weed from the Jamaicans on 126th & Jamaica Ave. (no kidding) and drive out to Rockaway Beach or to Dennis's attic apartment to get really stoned. Good times.

I got an e-mail from him the other day to tell me that he's settled into his new life. I am really jealous because there's a huge difference between working for a living and living for one's work. He's now doing the later. Now, I don't mean to disparage the nobility of being a working stiff. I can't help but envy that person who has the nerve and the means to act on very natural desire to give up a safe thing, for a possibly good thing.

Here's the new task for me on life's scavenger hunt list - take a road trip to Boerne, Texas in a bus. Before I leave NY, I'll pick up some of our old friends like Freddy, Mike, both Jimmys (B and K), Irene, Dave, and guitar George. Drive down to Georgia to pick up Dennis and drive I-10 all the way to Boerne where we'll show up at the Tin Roof Steak House and close the place down. I want to ankle up to his bar and puke in his toliet. I want to show Texas how NYers party. But more than anything else, I want to personally wish Kenny and Renee all the best.

I've Been a Lazy S.O.B.

Sorry, folks...it's not for a lack of ideas or times that I have not kept up with my posting. I'm just plain lazy about this.

I'me going to give it another go. Only this time, the blog with be S.E.P. in name only. If I get a good idea, I can run with, I'm going to post it.

More to follow...I promise....